


Blanketed

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: KINK: breathplay, KINK: orgasm control, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy is really more of an instant gratification kinda guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blanketed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silentdescant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/gifts).



> **Prereaders:** @sulwen  
>  **Disclaimer:** This is a work of _fiction_ using names and faces associated with actual trufax people. I do not know these people in any way, shape, or form outside of what they show the public. I fic them because I _like_ to. *smirk*  
>  **AN:** For the adorable and wonderfully talented @silentdescant. Happy birthday, bb!  <333

"I want you to hold it, Tommy Joe," Adam whispers, licking along the shell of Tommy's ear, teeth catching and tugging on the row of silver hoops. His fingers dance over the length of Tommy's dick, leaving a trail of barely there touches, fleeting little kisses of skin-on-skin contact.

Sweat breaks across Tommy's brow and his dick, aching and wet, jerks, chasing after the heat of Adam's hand. "Please, fuck, _Adam_."

It's not the first time Adam has asked this of him. Has asked – _demanded_ – that Tommy keep his pleasure at bay, that he surfs the knife's edge until his balls are heavy and painful and his dick is slick with precome. He loves it and hates it in turn.

Loves the way it builds. The attention that Adam gives over to pushing him higher and closer, using carefully placed touches and a litany of dirty, filthy words to keep Tommy skating the fine line where the pain bleeds over into pleasure and the endorphin high drugs him into a blitzed out state of bright colors and muted sounds. He loves it, loves Adam for giving it to him, for showing him all it can be.

He hates it for all the same reasons.

Because getting there isn't easy, the ridiculously carefree headspace isn't something that Tommy can just fall into. Letting go takes _work_.

And Tommy is really more of an instant gratification kinda guy.

"Come on, pretty," Adam murmurs the words right into Tommy's ear, the buzz and hum echoing deep inside Tommy's head. "Shut it all off and let me play. It's gonna happen tonight, baby. I'm gonna keep you tied up. I'm gonna lick and bite and touch, gonna work your hole open until it's loose and sloppy wet, just begging for me to fill it, to slide in and claim…"

Tommy arches against the hold of the cuffs, shuddering as the leather bites into ankles and wrists. "Do it," he mumbles – _begs_ – as he tightens his hold on the bell ball in his right hand, "do it, please."

"Not yet." Adam slides his hands over Tommy's chest, tweaking and pinching, rolling nipples and skin until pinks and reds appear. Some, a few, will be purple come the morning, giving Tommy something to hold on to, a tangible thing to prove that he did this, that he gave it all over and Adam brought him out the other side, whole and intact and better – calmer, freer – than he was before.

Each twist of Adam's fingers pushes Tommy in deeper, raises him higher. He moans – one long hurt-filled sound – and Adam grins. "That's it, now you're getting there."

The moan stutters out, morphs into a high-pitched _needy_ sound. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

"Yeah," Adam says, like Tommy was asking a question or making a suggestion, anything besides the begging curse that it really was. "Soon."

Soon is not gonna be soon enough. It can't be. Because Tommy is on the verge of shooting right the fuck off. One more word or touch, one glancing breath across his dick and he is fucking gone.

Then Adam's hands are gone, like he knew Tommy was tipping, was moments away from falling off the cliff's edge and going down… down… down into a sea of white noise and crashing waves of sated bliss.

"Deep breath, Tommy Joe," Adam drags a hand over Tommy's thigh, grounding him. "Come on, baby. Hold it back."

Tommy wants to cry or scream, wants to tell Adam to fuck him right the fuck now, goddammit. That this shit isn't funny, that he _needs_ to come. Except he knows none of that will stop Adam. None of his yelling or pleading or crying will even slow down the path they're on.

There's only one thing, one word, that will make Adam back off. And Tommy's nowhere near uttering it.

Three breaths, three measly, deep breaths, and Adam is back, attacking Tommy's control and defenses. He drags his nails over Tommy's thighs, wraps one hand loosely, too fucking loosely, around Tommy's dick.

It's torture. Fucking beautiful, perfect, goddamn torture.

Then Adam leans forward, presses his other palm against Tommy's chest, right over his heart, and then pushes higher, rubbing hard against the skin until his fingers flitter against Tommy's neck. He shifts his weight, until he's looking directly into Tommy's eyes.

The piercing stare, the bright blue of Adam's eyes, splinters the final piece of Tommy's tattered control. He blinks, once, giving Adam the permission he is looking for.

His air disappears slowly, Adam's hand moving higher, his fingers curling around Tommy's throat and stealing his ability to breathe, and at the same time Adam squeezes Tommy's dick, takes his grip from lax to too fucking tight.

The burn claws at Tommy's lungs, and precome leaks from his slit. He's spread out and wanton, begging like a whore. And all he wants is more and more and fucking so much more.

He shakes the ball in his hand, the tinkle of the bell light and airy, like a fairy's kiss, and Adam backs off, lets a trickle of air seep into Tommy's lungs. And then, when Tommy blinks, he closes the void and Tommy starts spiraling again.

Leaning in close, the feel of his breath hot and moist on Tommy's cheek, Adam whispers, "Now, Tommy Joe."

Adam releases his hold on Tommy's throat, replaces the dam blocking Tommy's air with his mouth, kissing and kissing and fucking owning Tommy as he strokes him through his orgasm. He keeps kissing him, keeps stroking, until Tommy jerks and moans and goes boneless against the mattress.

Then, brushing a gentle kiss against Tommy's cheek, Adam reaches up and unbuckles the cuffs on Tommy's wrists, gently takes the bell ball from his clenched fingers, murmuring praises – _so good, so fucking precious_ – and gives him pets and kisses.

And Tommy floats, finally there, in the headspace he's been chasing all night, safe and cocooned, blanketed by Adam.

 

* end *


End file.
